Do Ben

Anois tá ginte againn is ní bheidh
ár bhfeo, ár meath,
gan a mhacasamhail
de ghlóire ag dreapadh.

Ar mheirgirí nua seo na fola ní ghá dúinn
aon raison d’être ná cúis troda a leagadh,
ualach a chuirfeadh formnaí glasa caola
as alt.

Ach d’fhéadfaimíst
dóchas a sheachadadh
ar aghaidh.

Is mara bhfuil ann
ach bosca de shíor fé shéala, is cuma,
níl deimhnitheacht de dhíth.

D’fhéadfadh an splanc sa bhosca
’bheith beo nó marbh,
Nó an dá rud araon.

 


 

Schrödinger’s Cat

For Ben

The work of our generation being done
Though we fall into a decline from our peak,
An answering cohort on the rise
Signals relief.

We do not need to charge
Men bearing the colours of our blood
With a too weighty purpose,
To overload young shoulders.

But we could
Send on
Hope.

And if it is nothing
But a battered, unopened box,
No matter—certainty is not a requirement.

The spark inside the box
May be live, or have expired
Or both at once.

– Translated from the Irish by Fintan O’Higgins